Fool's Gold
by Tedwin
Summary: Hayffie AU. It's time for the Second Quarter Quell, and District 12 is sending four children to their deaths, as scheduled. Except Haymitch Abernathy is determined to survive, even if that means pretending to be tragically in love with his annoying fellow tribute, Effie Trinket.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hi! Welcome to this story. This is my first in the Hunger Games fandom, so I hope you all enjoy it. For the purposes of future plot, I have slightly altered the rules of the Quarter Quell - there are four tributes for every Quarter Quell, instead of that just being a one-time twist. Chapters will generally alternate between Haymitch and Effie.**

 **Chapter 1**

The day of the reaping, Haymitch woke early and headed into town.

He met Lily in front of her father's shop. Her father, Mr. Finch, was District 12's carpenter.

She'd cleaned up for the cameras. Her lion's mane of dark curls had been brushed down, and possibly even treated with some sort of product based on how flat it was. She was wearing a clean, gingham dress he'd never seen before.

But she was still barefoot, like him. There was his girl.

The first thing she did, when they saw each other from across the street, was run into his arms and cling to him tightly.

He breathed in her familiar scent, which was grass and wood shavings. Her hair tickled his nose, and he pulled on a lock lovingly.

"I'm scared." Her voice was muffled into his shoulder. "Haymitch…"

She looked up at him, eyes wide and full of fear.

"I know," he told her. "The odds aren't in our favour. But they never are, and we've gotten by so far."

Their hands entwined, but they stopped hugging and began to walk. They only had so much time, after all.

"With the Quell… Our odds are worse than ever, you know. Nearly everybody in the district takes tesserae."

He remembered the announcement. It had been mandatory viewing, and he'd been sat in front of the television with his family. They'd watched President Snow pull a slip of paper out from an envelope and read out the twist of the fiftieth Hunger Games.

" _On the fiftieth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the most powerful of their ranks cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the four tributes will be reaped exclusively from a pool of children who have not taken tesserae._ "

His mother had wailed, his father had thrown a book at the image of President Snow's face.

Haymitch had stayed where he was on the sagging couch, hugging his younger brother tightly. He was glad Harland was still years away from being eligible to participate in the Games.

He must have been the only child in the Seam to have never taken tesserae. There had been times, during the harsh winters, when he had wanted to, but his parents had never let him. Between his father's job as the leader of a mining division, his mother's laundry work, and the errands Haymitch ran for people, they had just enough to scrape by.

How that had backfired.

Lily was right; their odds were disastrous. District 12 had a small population to begin with, and a majority of them were so poor that they had no choice but to take tesserae. The pool of potential tributes would be a tenth of its normal size.

"Tell you what," Haymitch decided. "They reap the girls first. If they reap you, I'll volunteer for the boys and I'll make sure you win, okay?"

"No." Lily shook her head. "Don't."

It was a big promise to make. People didn't volunteer for the Games unless they were sure they were going to win – which was probably why District 12 hadn't ever had a volunteer.

They hadn't ever had a Victor either, except for Shale Trinket. But nobody considered Shale a Victor of 12, because ever since she'd first left for the Capital, she'd done everything in her power to distance herself from the district. She wore Capitol clothes and spoke in a Capitol accent and spent most of the year in the Capitol with her Capitol friends. Her daughter, Effie, was just as bad, if not worse. Neither of them wanted anything to do with District 12, and District 12 didn't want anything to do with them.

"I couldn't live with myself if I didn't."

He wouldn't be missed much. He had a small circle of friends, restricted only to Lily and Pickett Everdeen, and his family would have more money to spare without him.

Lily was the girl he would marry. They'd have two children and live by the meadow, and defy the Capitol by being happy even in the face of their oppression.

Except that couldn't happen if Lily wasn't there.

"Then I'll volunteer too," she decided stubbornly, sticking her nose into the air. "That's the deal. If I'm reaped, you volunteer. If you're reaped, I volunteer."

"Don't be stupid."

"It's your idea. You're the stupid one." She shoved him in the side.

"If we're both reaped, I'm going to die so that you can live. We'll have no other choice if they pull out your name. But if I'm reaped and you're not, that means I'm going to try and live so that I can come back to you. So by volunteering then, you'd just be killing me. Understand?"

They were within view of the meadow now. It being summer, the meadow was at its most beautiful. The flowers were in full bloom, and butterflies were fluttering through the air. Somewhere, a mockingjay was singing.

Lily came to a stop, facing him with her hands on her hips and her feet shoulder width apart. He recognised it immediately as the stance she automatically took when she was challenging him.

"What's all this about you protecting me?" she demanded. "Who's to say that you wouldn't only be dragging _me_ down by participating in the Games?"

"Please, Lilypad," he drawled. "We both know that out of the two of us, I'm the athletic one."

"Oh yeah?" she flashed him a smile which told him trouble was coming. "Fine then. Let's see who's faster. Race you to the oak tree!"

And she was off, sprinting over the remainder of the dusty road and into the long grass of the meadow.

"Hey, no fair!" He called after her, and then he gave chase.

They both ran past the oak tree, circling the meadow, shouting and laughing as they tripped over each other until, finally, Haymitch caught her by the waist and the two of them collapsed onto the ground together, rolling through the flowers.

He found the ticklish spot behind her left knee and was ruthless in his attack, until she was laughing so hard that she was crying.

And then they weren't laughing anymore, they were kissing. It was soft and gentle, and a little awkward, because both of them were new to the kissing thing and they weren't that good at not bumping noses.

When they'd tired of kissing, they lay in the grass side-by-side, hands intertwined once more. Both were breathing heavily, and Lily's cheeks were pink and flushed.

"Look," Lily said, pointing at a cloud in the sky. "It's a turnip."

He squinted but couldn't find anything remotely turnip-like in the cloud. "No way! That's obviously a squirrel. You gotta be blind."

"No, I'm serious! Look, that short bit there is the end, and then it curves around…" she pointed with her free hand, tracing the shape.

"I dunno, I just can't see it…"

"Yeah, look! Over there. And then the one next to it looks like a bear!"

"That one? No, that one looks like my girlfriend when she's angry. But those are very similar, so don't worry, it's an easy mistake."

She punched him lightly on the shoulder. "Ass. You're the bear here, all grouchy and grumbly."

"I guess I am," he smirked, pulling her on top of him. "Give the bear some honey, Lilypad. Grrr!"

She pecked him on the lips, and then they stayed where they were, looking into each other's faces.

There were gold specks in her eyes. A scar on her forehead, from when he'd been thirteen and she'd been eleven, and he'd accidentally pushed her out of a tree. Freckles were scattered everywhere, like constellations of stars. He'd tried to count them numerous times, but she always distracted him before he could finish.

"Do you think this is goodbye?"

He pushed her off, springing to his feet. "Dammit, Lily, why do you have to ruin this?"

She looked hurt, but he couldn't apologise. It was about pride. She wouldn't have apologised in his place, either.

"I had a dream, last night," she continued. "We were trapped in a reaping bowl together, and there was an audience clapping but I couldn't see them, and I realised the reaping bowl was an arena. We were the last two tributes and we had to kill each other. I said I couldn't kill you, but you said I already had, and then my hands were covered in blood and you were dead."

"Good thing reaping bowls are so small then," he said. "I don't think they could fit both of us in , they let you say goodbye to people after you're reaped."

" _Haymitch_."

He pulled her into his arms, hugging her tightly. "It was just a dream," he promised her. "It didn't mean anything. And even if it did, dream you was right. You get into the arena, you do everything you can – I don't care what it is – to win. That includes killing me."

She shrugged him away. "Shut up."

"I'd do the same in an arena. Kill anyone, do anything, if it meant that I could win and come back to you."

Her face was horrified. "Can you hear yourself?" she asked. "You're disgusting. That's not winning. It's just becoming one of them, submitting to the Capitol and their Games. It makes you no better than them. I'd rather die than have you do that for me."

"Then you're an idiot."

"Maybe I am then," she said, and then walked away in a huff.

He watched her leave, unwilling to call after her. She'd calm down on her own, eventually.

There was the distant rumble of peacekeeper trucks in the distance. It was getting late, and his mother wouldn't be happy if he didn't clean up some before the reaping. He set off home.

"Good, you're here!" His mother greeted him when he entered, immediately walking over to fuss over his hair. He let her. "How's Lily?"

"Annoying. She's worrying that one of us will get reaped."

"That's a valid worry and you shouldn't make fun of her for it."

"I didn't!"

His mother ignored him, frowning at his clothes. "You're a state. Go have a wash, I'll prepare some clothes for you."

"What's the point? Why should I make an effort to look good when all they're doing is trying to kill me?"

She huffed. "One day, that mouth of yours will land us all on the whipping block. You'll make an effort to look good because you don't want to shame your mother on national television, that's why."

Scowling and muttering under his breath, he headed for the tiny corner of the house which was curtained off, where a bucket of water would be awaiting him.

The clothes his mother had selected for him were simple. The pants were the only pair he owned that wasn't patched, although the fabric was thinning drastically in some areas. The shirt was cotton and had been white once but was now a sort of greyish-yellow. There was even a thin, green jacket somebody must have passed on to her.

He'd be wearing his normal shoes, the only shoes he owned. They were in fairly good condition, because he only wore them to school and reapings, and otherwise walked around barefoot. They were beginning to pinch his toes, but the pain was bearable.

Harland definitely wouldn't be appearing in front of any cameras, but he'd also been cleaned up. His dark blond hair had been smoothed over, the dirt on his face wiped away.

But if Haymitch's shoes were bad, Harland's were a disaster. The soles flapped in the wind, exposing grubby toes.

Next year, Haymitch promised himself, he _would_ take tesserae and they could use the extra money to buy Harland new shoes.

"Don't you look fetching," he teased his brother, tousling his hair.

Harland scowled, smacking his hands away. "I just fixed that!"

"Calm down," Haymitch rolled his eyes. "You look fine. You'll have all the eight-year-old girls from your class throwing themselves at you. If you're lucky, maybe even somebody from the grade above."

"How was your _date_ with _Lilypad_?"

"Great. We kissed a lot."

Harland screwed up his face in disgust. "Yuck!" He began to make gagging sounds.

" _Boys_." Their father entered the room. His hair, for once, was recognisable as the same blond as Haymitch and Harland's.

Their father had been from a merchant family originally and they'd owned a clothing shop, but they had to sell it because it cost more than it was earning them. The Abernathys had to move to the Seam and become miners, like most of the rest of the population, and that was how their father had met their mother.

He was so sombre, Haymitch and Harland stopped squabbling. It was worse for their parents, Haymitch reckoned. They had all the dread he did, and they would be helpless to do anything for them if they were picked.

Maybe he didn't want kids. Not if they were going to die.

"It's time to leave."

Haymitch ignored the deep need to run as far away as he could and followed his father and brother out of the room.

The square was packed, as usual. The population of District 12 had been even smaller than it currently was when it was built, and there'd never been any renovations.

Haymitch elbowed his way to the section for seventeen-year-old males. He searched the crowds and waved at Lily when he finally found her. She ignored him.

Typical. She'd get over it sometime after the reaping.

A bead of sweat trailed down his brow. Between the cramped square and the heat, it was boiling.

"You need a 'kerchief, hay-brain?" A familiar voice teased.

"I actually wouldn't mind one, Ever-dumbass," Haymitch admitted as his friend slid into the space beside him. "I'm about to freaking melt over here."

Pickett handed him something silky and white.

"Where'd you get something this fancy?" Haymitch asked, inspecting it after he'd given it a swipe over his brow. "Wow, it's _monogrammed_."

"Iris keeps leaving them lying around," Pickett told him. "I'm always finding them in my pockets."

"Who knew blondie could be so territorial?"

"That's my girl you're talking about, Haymitch. Be careful."

"I've barely said anything. Speaking of girls, mine's in a right mood with me."

"What did you do now?"

"I told her that if she got reaped, I'd volunteer and make sure she won. You'd have done the same for Iris, right?"

Pickett hesitated. "I love Iris, but… I don't wanna die, Haymitch. Not when I don't need to, and neither of us has good chances. You've only been dating Lily for five months. Is five months worth dying for?"

Haymitch glared. "It may only be five months, but we've been friends for fifteen years. And you _would_ have a good chance – you poach all the time. Which, by the way, is also risking death." They were deep enough in the crowd that he wasn't afraid of being overheard by peacekeepers.

"Those are two very different risks."

"Does it matter? Whatever the risk, the odds are never in our favour. We'll probably be dead by thirty."

"Well, with that kind of attitude…"

A loud screech echoed throughout the square as District 12's escort, Hubbell Hark, tapped the microphone. He was a gangly man with bright yellow hair and a red, sparkly suit.

"Welcome to the 50th annual Hunger Games and Second Quarter Quell!" He paused for a round of applause that never came. "Before we begin, there will be a video, as usual."

Haymitch and Pickett looked at each other, argument forgotten, to mouth the words. _War. Terrible war._

 _War_ , the video boomed. _Terrible war._

The two hid their smiles.

"Wonderful!" the escort beamed as soon as the video was over. "Now for the reaping. As this year is a Quarter Quell, there will be four tributes – two young men and two young women. Every Quarter Quell has a twist. This year, tributes will be reaped from those who did not opt to take tesserae. Ladies first!"

He pranced over to the girls' reaping bowl. It was shallower than usual, but he plucked out a name without much trouble.

"The first female tribute for District 12 is… Maysilee Donner!"

There was a dreadful cry from the girls' section, and Haymitch saw three near-identical girls clinging to one another. To his own surprise, he recognised one as Pickett's girl, Iris. Was this her sister?

He wouldn't have been able to bear it if Harland was reaped.

With some prodding from the peacekeepers, Maysilee untangled herself from the other girls and made her way up to the stage and shook the escort's hand. She looked like she was about to faint.

Hubbell Hark dipped back into the bowl. "The second female tribute for District 12 is… Euphemia Trinket!"

 _Lily was safe_. Haymitch managed to release a breath he hadn't known he was holding.

Effie Trinket practically skipped to the stage, a smile plastered to her face. Haymitch knew, from listening to her talk at school sometimes, that she was a big Games-supporter, having been as good as raised in the Capitol.

It was ironic, given she'd always been guaranteed a spot in the Games. Victors' children were often reaped and being the only Victor's child in 12 had probably secured that.

Shale Trinket's daughter or not, Effie would not be able to survive the Games. Haymitch once saw her cry over a broken nail!

"Now for the boys!" Hubbell Hark announced. "The first male tribute for District 12 is… Sash Pine!"

A brunet boy with ears that stuck out stumbled out from the younger male section. He was obviously town, because he seemed relatively well-fed and his clothes were new.

"Congratulations, Sash," the escort told the boy as they shook hands. Sash was pink in the face and looked like he might cry.

 _Congratulations_. Yes, what an _honour_. Capitols were idiots.

"And the final tribute..." Hubbell sang. "The second male tribute for District 12 is Haymitch Abernathy!"

His heart skipped a beat.

The air left his chest.

That was him. He was Haymitch Abernathy.

His eyes met Pickett's, just as wide and afraid.

"Good luck, man," his best friend whispered. "You gotta come back to us."

And then peacekeepers were prodding him forwards, and he was shrugging them off, and he was walking towards the stage. Hubbell Hark shook his hand and stood him next to the others.

"This is Hubbell Hark, with District 12's tributes: Maysilee Donner, Euphemia Trinket, Sash Pine, and Haymitch Abernathy," he said to the cameras, and after they'd stopped rolling, he turned around to face them with a smile. "Time for your goodbyes, darllings!"

He searched Lily out from the crowd again. She mouthed the familiar words to him, all the anger from earlier gone. _I love you_.

He was going to get back to her. He was going to win, for Lily. So they could have their two kids and the house by the meadow. So he could wrestle with Harland and teach him how to climb a tree properly.

 _He was going to fight the freaking Capitol and win._


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Yay, new chapter! Hope you enjoy :)**

 **Chapter 2**

The escort ushered them onto the train, filled with smiles and high-pitched giggles, as though this wasn't the worst moment of the four children's lives.

Well, Haymitch could only speak for himself; Trinket was having the time of her life, posing in front of cameras and chatting with interviewers as though this was all perfectly normal.

As though they weren't all being sent to their deaths.

He saw his family behind the crowds of Capitols – his father, foreign without the familiar coat of coal dust covering his body; his mother, strong and fierce in her determination not to give the Capitol the satisfaction of seeing her crying; his brother, too young to control his emotions in the same way, engulfed by the jacket Haymitch just gave him (after all, not as though Haymitch would need it).

It all sent a fresh wave of rage through him. _It wasn't fair_. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair.

Lily had chanted it into his neck while they said goodbye, somewhere in-between the desperate sobbing and frantic kisses, before they tore her away and he clutched at her, needing to memorise her face one last time-

He stormed onto the train and lashed out at the first thing in sight, knocking a vase off a table. He began to pound onto the wood with his fists, trying to imagine a peacekeeper – better yet, President Snow himself – in its place.

" _That is mahogany!_ "

The scandalised exclamation drew his attention for a short moment. Trinket stared at him, lips pursed in disapproval.

Her makeup was thick, her hair carefully curled and pinned, her dress bright and colourful and expensive enough to have funded a year's worth of food for some Seam families.

She looked Capitol. She was Capitol. He _hated_ the Capitol.

Something in him snapped, and then he was barrelling towards Trinket, and she was letting out a high-pitched shriek as he knocked her to the floor, and then he was about to give her a good thump, make her hurt like he was, when somebody was dragging him off her by the scruff of the neck.

He squirmed free of the grip on his shirt and found Shale Trinket looming over him. She was several times taller than he had expected, perhaps because of her heels.

The escort fussed over Trinket and glared at Haymitch. "You must _never_ hurt a lady!"

Haymitch laughed. "That's the whole point of the Games. I thought a Capitol of all people would understand that."

"Fighting between tributes isn't allowed on the train, boy," Shale informed him. "The Games haven't begun yet."

"What are they gonna do? Haymitch sneered. "Disqualify me?"

"There are many ways they could punish you." Shale pointed towards the next room. "And if you all _calm down_ and _follow me_ and _sit down_ , I might teach you how to avoid that."

Although he grumbled under his breath, Haymitch did follow the others as they filed into the next room.

Listening, if anything, would at least give him some idea of what his competitors were doing.

Shale had them all introduce themselves all over again and tell her their ages and what their parents did.

Sash was thirteen, the youngest of all of them, and his parents were the District butchers – Haymitch, having never had fresh meat in his life, had no clue who they were.

Maysilee was sixteen, Lily's age. He'd seen her around at school, always stuck to the hip with her sisters. Her parents owned the candy shop, where his brother liked to stand for hours on end and gaze at the displays of beautiful confections.

Trinket didn't need to introduce herself, but she did anyway. She was fifteen, her mother was Shale, and wasn't this exciting? How fun this was, they were a team and they were doing it all together…

The urge to throttle her returned, but apparently violence was only encouraged in front of a camera, so Haymitch spoke over her instead. Better to get it over with.

"'M Haymitch. I'm nearly eighteen. Pa's a miner. I ain't part of no team."

Shale's eyebrows skyrocketed. "You're Seam?"

Haymitch shrugged.

He knew what they were thinking – how could a Seam boy be able to not take tesserae? But his family were careful and between three working members, they'd just about managed.

It would be much worse next year, if Haymitch died. Harland would probably have to take tesserae, and there wouldn't be a Quell rule change to save him from that, no older brother to volunteer in his place…

Somebody poked him in the side with a sharp nail.

"Well, Haymitch?" Trinket's voice was shrill. "Aren't you going to apologise?"

He snorted. "For what?"

"You _attacked_ me."

"Yeah, but apologising would imply I'm sorry for it."

Trinket sniffed, pursing her lips. She pursed her lips enough to be a damn fish.

"In the arena," Shale said, "the four of you have better odds as allies. You'll be able to share resources, use combined skills, and fend off other groups of attackers. Safe sleep will also be easier."

"And then when it comes down to it, we'll all kill each other, woohoo!" Haymitch snarked.

"Or we could split up before it got to that point," Maysilee pointed out. She was so quiet, Haymitch almost didn't hear her.

Shale nodded approvingly. "Assuming you were all alive when it came down to the Final Eight, that would be the ideal time to separate. There'd be enough mutts and tributes left to assure that you wouldn't be tasked with fighting each other, if you were opposed to that."

"Alright then," Haymitch said. "Let's assume I wanna be part of a team, which I don't. What use will I have for any of you?"

There was a beat of silence.

Because he'd said it, hadn't he? Maybe the richer kids had more food and medicine and whatever, but they also hadn't worked a day in their lives. They didn't know how to starve, or fight for scraps. They'd never slept rough. They didn't stand a chance of survival.

Especially not if he was going to win. Because he had to win – for his brother, for Harland. And that meant he'd maybe have to kill one of these people.

"I can use a knife," Sash wiped the tears from his eyes with the back of his sleeve, making Trinket wince. "I help out my parents all the time. I can gut stuff. It's how I lost my fingertip, see?"

He held out a hand proudly, showing off the shorter index finger.

"My dad, he's lost _three_ fingers. Nothing can stop a Pine from doing their best, he says, my dad says."

"I can use a knife too," Trinket spoke up. "And I know lots about plants. I use lavender for my detoxes, and rose is wonderful for avoiding break-outs – you could use some of that, Haymitch – and calendula does wonders for moisturising your skin, witch hazel is wonderful for inflammation, and chamomile isn't just good for drinking, you know!"

Surely she'd use Capitol beauty products, in favour of making her own? And whatever would Effie Trinket do with a knife?

But of course, Shale was her mother. She was from a Victor family, she'd probably been expecting all her life that she would be reaped.

She must have been in training her whole life, like a Career. He wouldn't be surprised if she even had some kind of professional trainer in the Capitol, she spent her whole life there anyway.

He couldn't trust her. For all he knew, the ditsy, bubbly personality was only a façade to hide the stone-cold killer she was inside. Hadn't that been how Shale won? Pretending to be weak and attaching herself to the biggest, baddest tribute she could seduce, only to surprise everyone with her ruthless bloodlust in the last hours of the Games?

And Sash was too young. He reminded Haymitch of Harland; he'd never be able to kill him.

And Maysilee…

"I'm smart," the girl announced quickly, perhaps realising that between her endless crying and timid personality, she hadn't given herself the best image.

"Nobody ever won the Games with smart," Haymitch snorted. "You might want to find yourself a better talent before the interviews, else it'll be hard to hear from some sponsors. Assuming you survive the bloodbath, which isn't going to happen with _just smart_."

"Now, now, children, that's enough!" Although a beam was plastered over the escort's face, and his tone was light, he seemed annoyed. He didn't seem to like Haymitch much, for some reason. "There's been a meal prepared for you all in the next cart."

He ushered the others to their feet, leading them away. Seeing that Shale was still sat down, Haymitch asked, "You not eating?"

She smiled. Her teeth seemed uncomfortably pointed, almost animal-like. Probably some Capitol fashion.

"You have good odds, boy," she told him.

Good. He needed his mentor to like him.

"Are you going to favour Effie?"

"Naturally. But of course, if my daughter were to have allies who needed looking after…"

He was _not_ spending the possibly final days of his life with Effie Trinket. He'd end up killing _himself_. He could find another way to get the upper hand.

"Thanks, but no thanks." He began to walk away.

"Consider it, boy!" she called after him. "The offer will always be open!"

The others were already sat around a table piled with food, and Sash was tucking into a huge slab of meat.

"It's steak!" He exclaimed, seeing Haymitch's eyes resting on his plate. "They get it from cows! You've _got_ to try some."

It was the most food Haymitch had seen in his entire life. There were platters of meat, bowls of fruits and vegetables he'd never even heard of, and a great red creature with pincers laid across the table like a centrepiece.

"Have a seat," Trinket urged him. "I _tried_ to tell him it's impolite to begin eating before everybody's sat at the table," she cast a disparaging look towards Sash, who was oblivious, "but he wouldn't listen."

"Yeah, well," Haymitch grabbed a plate and began to pile on some kind of bird meat swimming in apples and plums. "Not all of us can afford to feast like kings and queens every day."

"That doesn't mean you shouldn't use your manners."

"Sorry, I'll try to remember my _pleases_ and _thank-you'_ s when I'm having my guts torn out in the arena."

"Make sure you do! You'll be on Live TV, and I, personally, don't want to reflect badly on the District. What people think about you is already bad enough."

"What people think about _me_? It's your District too, you know! Just because _you're_ determined to look like a Capitol clown doesn't mean that you're one of them now. After all, they seem pretty content to watch you die."

Maysilee got up from the table, her plate still untouched. "I feel sick. I'm going to go find Mr. Hark."

They watched her leave, the only sound being Sash tearing meat off a stick ravenously.

Trinket cleared her throat. "I apologise. It was impolite of us to argue at the dinner table. Please, Haymitch, help yourself."

"Cheers," Haymitch muttered, and began to dig into the bird meat.

It tasted amazing. The meat was soft, sweet, and juicy. The apples and plums were rich, the sauce they swam in so tasty Haymitch would have drunk it from his plate, if he weren't certain Trinket would make a fuss about it.

"Can you pass that?" he asked Trinket once he'd finished, gesturing to a bowl of smaller bird meat stuffed with something.

"The quail?" she clarified. He had no idea what that was, but the idea of looking ignorant in her eyes made him nod.

She passed it over.

"Thanks," he said, which he wouldn't bother with normally.

As he passed the bowl back to her, he realised that Trinket's own plate was empty. "What, you feel sick too?"

"Me?" she glanced down, seemingly remembering. "No, it's just I have this diet and- "

"Seriously? You've just been reaped into the Games and you're thinking about diets?"

To choose to starve when, in her own District…

"Yes," she jutted out her chin stubbornly. "Everybody in the Capitol will be watching us now. I want to be sure I look good on a screen."

It was Trinket; what more could he have expected?

"You look fine," he told her. "Eat. It'll get neutralised by all the starving you'll be doing in the arena."

She piled a small amount of vegetables onto her plate, and he rolled his eyes.

"So," she said, "what do you think the arena will be like?"

He refused to get dragged into conversation. He wanted to eat. In peace and quiet.

But Sash swallowed quickly and provided his own insight. "I'm hoping for a forest."

"Oh, but forests are _so_ cliché. Lots of opportunity for mutts, but there are too many hiding places and then, less fights."

When would the other shoe drop? When would she realise this wasn't just a bit of entertainment, it was a real ordeal she'd have to survive?

"Smaller arenas are always fun," Trinket continued. "But then the Games are shorter. It's not like I'm hoping for a desert or anything, but I want something _new_ and _exciting_. Like the other year, when they were all in the mountains and there was all that snow. Don't you just love snow? It's so beautiful. Except cold colours don't suit me, so maybe a warmer arena would be better."

He couldn't bear to sit there in silence and listen to more of her drivel.

"A forest means easy access to food. There's a lot of animals – and yes, a lot of mutts – so there's a lot of stuff you can kill and eat. And if you're an _'expert on plants'_ as you claim, it means there are plants you can eat too."

"That's why they usually use forests!" Sash provided. "When they do it somewhere else, like that year they did the abandoned city, or the year it was in a swamp, all the tributes starve to death, which means there's no fighting."

A faint pink blush was spread across Trinket's face. Good. Her ignorance _should_ embarrass her. She had to understand what she'd been supporting all these years.

"I see. Well… yes, let's hope for a forest then."

"Ah, children! You haven't murdered each other yet, that's good." Shale entered the room. She'd changed from her all-black outfit to a glittering blue dress so wide, it barely fit through the compartment doors.

"Where's Maize?"

"She felt ill," Trinket provided. "What a wonderful dress that is you're wearing!"

"Thank you, dear. You'll be pleased to know it was made by District 12's newest stylist, I'm just trying it on really. Is Maize alright?"

" _Maysilee_ ," Haymitch growled through gritted teeth, "is with the escort, so she should be fine."

Shale frowned. "It isn't polite to refer to Mr. Hark as 'the escort', Haymitch. My, you'll be a challenge during the session for teaching manners."

 _Manners_. "We're being sent off to a fight to the death and you're teaching us _manners_?"

She clucked. "Attracting sponsors is important for survival. But we'll discuss that at a later date, when all of us are here. Sash, dear, your fork should be in your other hand, and we _absolutely must_ keep our elbows off the table."

He resented this. The Careers were probably somewhere out there, learning how to disembowel or set a trap, and he was sat at a table with treacherous Capitol wannabes, talking about diets and manners.

After they'd finished eating, they found Maysilee and the escort sat on a couch in front of the TV, where Caesar Flickerman's face filled the screen. This year, he was sporting a dark green wig – which, paired with his orange skin, made him look like a carrot – and sparkling lime green suit.

"You're just in time!" The escort exclaimed. "They're playing all the reapings!" He had a tiny, pink notebook open in his hand. What would he even be writing? _District 6: not a threat, kill first_?

But _you have to know your competition_ , Shale lectured them, so they all settled down around Maysilee and the escort like one big, happy family.

Districts 1 and 2 were, unsurprisingly, made up completely from volunteers. They were also the only volunteer districts, apart from one boy in District 4, who took the place of an inconsolable twelve-year-old.

"Those are the real threats," Shale declared. "When somebody volunteers, it's usually because they think they can win. Remember their names. Remember their faces."

 _Apollo. Lush. Bliss. Vicuna. Flint. Charr. Gemma. Esme. Dew_.

They were all between seventeen and eighteen, all lean and muscled, all confident and steel-eyed.

District 12, by comparison, was a joke. They were usually the joke, but especially this year. Hysterical Maysilee. Young Sash. Capitol Effie.

He wasn't going to ally, Haymitch decided. He couldn't afford to. Going off on your own was better odds anyway, no matter what Shale had claimed. Haymitch had seen enough Games to know.

After the reapings, Shale talked strategy. Given none of them were fighters, they were better off ignoring the Cornucopia completely and running in the opposite direction. That way they wouldn't be involved in the bloodbath.

"What're your skills then?" Shale demanded, looking at Haymitch. "It's only fair you share, given all that rigorous interviewing you made the team go through."

Rigorous interviewing was a bit of an exaggeration, but it wasn't like his skills were a secret, so Haymitch began to list.

"I know how to starve. I know what it's like to be unable to eat. I'm quick. I'm always getting into fights at home, so I can take care of myself. I know how to take care of myself. Sometimes I've managed to catch a squirrel or bird that got lost in the district? But you know why _I'm_ going to win? Because I refuse to die."

And not just for Harland, or the rest of his family. Not even Lily, with her petal-soft lips and hazel eyes.

He refused to die for the Capitol. He refused to die for their entertainment. He could die at home, in a mine collapse or as a punishment for poaching, but he wasn't going to die on a screen for all the world to point and laugh.

"That right there!" the escort tittered, pointing at Haymitch.

"What?"

"That's what I want to see during your interview. That fire, that determination, that… What is it? That warrior quality."

"They'll love it!" Effie agreed eagerly, nodding along. "And it'll be unexpected from a 12 tribute."

Too bad he wasn't trying to appeal to the Capitol. He was going to be as unlikeable as possible.

That night, he tossed and turned. The bed was too soft, the sheets too slippery beneath him, the pyjamas tickled his skin.

He couldn't stop thinking about his family and the Games. Even if he won, they'd have likely seen him murder other tributes. Possibly younger tributes. How could his parents ever look him in the eyes again? He didn't want Harland watching, not when he'd always copied Haymitch and said _I wanna be just like you when I grow up_.

 _How could Lily ever relax in a murderer's arms?_

He ended up sleeping on the floor, because it felt closer to home. He discarded the Capitol-issue pyjamas and stayed in his underwear.

He was awoken by a shrill, annoying voice. "Haymitch, we're all going to have breakfast now and then we'll talk about training, so- oh my!"

Haymitch stumbled to his feet, shrugging on yesterday's shirt. "Calm down, sweetheart. It's like you've never seen a body before."

"Yes- well- yes, but-" he smirked at how flustered Trinket was "-just. Put on a clean shirt. There are plenty. There will be cameras at the station."

She stormed out, the door slamming behind her.

Trinket was still pink at breakfast, where Sash was gorging on pastries and Maysilee was delicately picking at toast.

"Eat up!" Shale announced. "I want all of you to gain as much weight as possible while we're here. Extra body fat will help you when you're in the arena."

The look on Trinket's face made Haymitch snort. He'd been right, and she didn't seem happy about it, to say the least.

Once they'd finished eating, Shale talked training. That afternoon, they would be in the opening ceremony, a parade where tributes were displayed to the Capitol in their district-related costumes.

She wasn't finished talking when Sash ran to the windows, face bright with excitement. "We're here, we're here!" he cried, seemingly forgotten why _they were here_ once he'd seen the crowds of Capitols cheering for them.

Trinket rushed to join him with a happy squeal, and Maysilee soon followed. Haymitch stayed where he was sat, dread pooling in the pit of his stomach.

They were in the Capitol.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hurrah, another chapter! And we are now up to thirty views, only twenty of which are me. But if anybody is reading, I hope you enjoy. This is Effie POV, which means next chapter will be Haymitch!**

 **Chapter 3**

They were quickly bustled past the crowds on the train station and into a large, white, square building that Effie knew to be Remake Centre. Outside of Games season, it was used as a rehabilitation facility for the wealthiest of Capitol citizens.

After the muted, dull colours of District 12, Effie found the spectrum of colours splashed over the Capitol refreshing.

Although the Remake Centre was built in a plain, minimalist style, Effie's prep team more than made up for the lack of colour. Isaijah had a bright pink plume of feathers for hair, and tattoos of birds flew across his whole body; a dove spreading its wings over his forehead; a charm of hummingbirds racing down his arm; a crow lurking behind his ear. Yorke had a great, red beard of curls brushing against his feet, and a large, scaly collar glittering blue-green shielded most of his head. Venia was around Effie's age, and she was the prettiest of them all, with her lavender skin and star-speckled, night-sky hair.

They were relieved to see Effie submit to their care without hesitation, and whisked her into one of the prep rooms, where they quickly set to work.

It was a routine Effie knew, and she relaxed easily into the familiar processes as careful hands massaged oils into her hair and worked miracles on her hands, which had become scratched while she was gathering herbs in the garden.

The prep team chattered as they worked, and Effie gladly caught up on more of the gossip she'd missed – with three other tributes to look after, Hubby had only been able to share so much.

Aukai Herschel held the party of the century and President Snow attended, but it was all a disaster when the catering company prepared the wrong kind of shrimp dip. Somebody released pictures of Theophania O'Fleet in mismatched underwear and that was a disaster too until somebody on her PR team pulled some strings, and now mismatched underwear was all the rage. Sela Bitterbright was having an affair behind her pregnant husband's back, but it was his fault because everybody knew Sela was an addict and a slut and the pregnancy was obviously just a ploy to stop her from leaving him (Yorke, a self-proclaimed romantic, disagreed with this last part and said the pregnancy must have been planned and wanted by both of them because his sister's neighbour had seen the couple together at clinics around the time of the conception).

There wasn't anything remotely reminiscent of Capitol drama in District 12, because nothing ever happened there. The Capitol was constantly moving, constantly changing, never asleep…

And District 12 was always so quiet. Effie hated the quiet. Victors' Village was silent all the time, and the silence followed Effie and her mother everywhere they went in the district, like it was contagious. Often, even when Effie tried to fill the silence with conversation, she was ignored – her mother spent lots of time claiming she had headaches and locking herself in her room, while the locals simply didn't seem to like her.

When Effie had pampered and polished into perfection, the prep team stepped back to admire her.

"Beautiful hair!" Isaijah crowed. "It would suit pink perfectly, don't you think?"

"And some gold swirls to frame her face!" Yorke added.

"Some gems wouldn't hurt either." Venia swiped down from the crown of Effie's head to her collarbone. "Just here. Possibly along the swirls."

They sighed almost collectively.

"Well?" Effie said hopefully, thinking all three ideas sounded marvellous. She'd seen a similar look on Lachas Bluestone at a fashion show by Roke Barrow the previous year. "Why _not_ make me over like that?"

The prep team's faces fell, and they exchanged dark looks.

"We've been forbidden to change anything without the stylist's express permission," Yorke informed her glumly. "I think she wants a _natural look_."

Isaijah shuddered at the words, and Effie nearly followed suit. Natural looks were so _plain_ , and she needed to stand out. She wasn't about to be humiliated by a stylist who didn't know what they were doing.

"Are you sure?" She pleaded. "Couldn't you please at least dye my hair?" She tugged at a blonde lock unhappily.

"I believe there are other plans for that," Venia said, frowning. "It's all very hush-hush."

"Not even _I_ was told!" Isaijah interjected, annoyed. He appeared to be the leader of the group; Effie had once been told at a Games party that the leader of the prep team always worked on hair.

"I think she wants to avoid a leak," Venia said.

That suggested a new idea for costumes, at least. The less people knew, the better the shock effect on the audience.

It still wasn't necessarily a _good_ , new idea though. The shock effect was just based on catching the audience's attention, whether it was positive or negative.

After all, people still talked about the year District 12's tributes were naked and covered in coal dust. It probably would have worked better if District 12 tributes weren't scrawny and underfed, and nothing much to look at naked.

More foreboding still was the way the prep team was avoiding saying the stylist's name our loud, as though it were a bad word. Hubby had claimed it was somebody good, but then again, he wouldn't know as much about the inner-politics of the fashion world as these people did.

The prep team left Effie sat in a robe, waiting for the stylist.

She was able to sit still for all of a minute before getting to her feet and wandering. Between the silence and the lack of colours left in the wake of the prep team's departure, she felt uneasy and restless.

There was a mirror in the corner of the room and she approached it cautiously, unsure of what to expect. She wasn't used to looking at herself without the makeup and wigs and dresses which had been a part of her, the same as an arm or leg, since she was a baby.

She hated it. Like the room she was in, like District 12, she lacked colour and texture and originality and shape.

The blonde hair, blue eyes, heart-shaped face… She looked like she could be a merchant, a random person pulled off any district's street.

The notion that she could be somebody so unimportant and replaceable made her uncomfortable. She enjoyed being the centre of attention, having all eyes on her, knowing that all anybody was speaking or thinking about was her.

She wanted a wig which brushed the ceiling, and heels so high that she could look her mother in the eyes. She wanted smoky eyes and red lips, and some kind of lace to accessorise her face. She wanted a dress which would make her unforgettable.

She wanted an outfit that made her forget to be scared.

It felt like hours before the stylist arrived, although Effie had no notion of how much time was really passing. She continued to wander, steering clear of the mirror, and found a beautiful collection of nail polishes.

She itched to try them on – the magenta, the vermillion, the butterscotch – and was unscrewing the lid of a beautiful mulberry shade when a voice from behind startled her.

"I do believe that's my job."

Effie whirled around, blushing. Snooping and disobeying orders were the height of bad manners. "I am so sorry!" she blurted. "Please, do excuse me, I was very bored."

The woman in front of her grinned, baring a set of pointy teeth. They looked familiar, and Effie squinted, trying to see beneath the tightly stretched skin and tattoos, which was when she noticed the whiskers and put two and two together.

"Tigris!"

They'd met before, at parties and fashion shows. She'd been a stylist for 2, then 1, then 6, then 9… Being assigned 12 now, she was probably being slowly demoted.

But Tigris was one of the better stylists – at least, in Effie's opinion, and Effie tended to be right about these sorts of things – and if she was getting demoted, it was to do with her age and looks rather than her skills.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," the stylist replied in a gravelly voice similar to a purr. Effie couldn't remember whether it had been an alteration, but it was quite impressive. "I was making some last-minute alterations to your costume."

That was promising; there was a costume. At least Effie wouldn't be naked.

"Yes, I hear we're going for a natural look?" Effie tried to keep the disgust out of her voice, for manners' sake.

Tigris laughed. "Not tonight. You'll love tonight. We're going to make you a star. But we'll talk about that later."

Effie pouted. "Let's talk about it _now_."

"Now," Tigris said, "we shall eat."

What was this obsession everybody suddenly had with eating? Even Haymitch had been nagging at her to eat, and Haymitch clearly hated her.

Not that she cared about some stupid, dirty, Seam boy hating her.

Tigris led her into an attached room, where they sat down on a couch in front of a table of food. The stylist must have been allowed the choice of food served, as there was a clear raw theme; steak tartare, mett, beef carpaccio, and poke over rice featured heavily.

"Eat," Tigris handed her a plate. "You must be hungry, especially with that train journey beforehand. I know I'm always famished after a beautification session."

At least raw, there'd be fewer fatty calories, Effie decided, and piled sashimi onto her plate. Besides, she couldn't faint halfway through the parade because she'd been too stubborn to eat lunch.

Tigris tucked into a steak, and although it was rude to stare, Effie found herself sneaking morbidly curious glances at the way the stylist was eating, as though she were a wild animal who was eating their fallen prey with a knife and fork.

The food, obviously, was far better than anything she could have had at home – another part of the Capitol she'd missed. She didn't think the people in District 12 even knew what sashimi was.

Once they'd had their fill of food, Tigris set down to business.

"I'm making an exception tonight, for the wow factor. But wow factor wears off, and after that you'll need an angle, which will be girl-next-door."

She nodded along, knowing better than to argue. But just because Tigris was right, didn't mean Effie was happy about it.

"Girl-next-door means natural makeup. It means no wigs – the most you will do with your hair is tie it back using ribbons. Ribbons are your _thing_ now, because they are very girl next door. You shouldn't need to change the way you act but remember to smile. Eyes bright, chin up, smile on. Do you understand?"

"Of course!" Effie chirped with a smile. Eyes bright, chin up, smile on.

Tigris smiled back. "Good. Now, we prepare you for the parade."

She led Effie back to the prep room. Somebody had been there during their absence, and now a garment bag hung on the door, while several aerosol cans littered the counter.

"You can lose the robe. The first thing we're doing is painting your skin."

And thus began a long, arduous process where Effie wasn't allowed to make any movements in case she smudged the paint, and had to resist the urge to laugh whenever the spray paint hit any of her ticklish spots. While she dried, Tigris made some small additions to her face and fixed her hair.

When Tigris finally declared she could move again, Effie sighed with relief. If the others were going through the same process as her, she pitied the stylist in charge of Haymitch.

Now that the rest of her was finished, it was time to put on the dress. Seeing it, Effie gasped.

It was sleek and floor-length, fairly plain in design except for a corset, and behind it was an even longer cape. The whole ensemble was entirely gold.

She climbed into it eagerly, pushing Tigris to tie the corset tighter, tighter, tighter. Then the cape was hooked around her shoulders and she was ready.

She returned to the mirror, hoping for better results than the first time, and gasped in delight.

It wasn't just the dress that was gold; it was the entirety of her. From her hair to her toes. There were golden contacts in her eyes and golden eye-lashes stuck onto her own. A golden ribbon was tied around her bun, where a few carefully-selected curls had been allowed to escape.

She was _beautiful_.

"I take it you like it?" Tigris' voice was teasing.

"Oh, Tigris, it's fabulous! I could hug you, if I weren't afraid of spoiling it. We are _so_ lucky to have you. The audience won't know what hit them."

Their chariots would be entering the courtyard last, which made it even better, because there'd be nobody to upstage or copy them. The effect, hopefully, would draw some sponsors.

Tigris lead Effie backstage, where she reunited with her peers. They all looked breath-taking. They were also all-gold, Maysilee identical to Effie except for her hair (which was in some sort of braid and didn't have a ribbon).

The four of them together were drawing the attention of all the other tributes and stylists. Some of the districts, especially 1 and 4, had good costumes, but none came close to theirs. Effie preened happily, showing off for them all as they stared.

Haymitch elbowed her in the side. "We should probably get onto the chariots." He looked uncomfortable; maybe he wasn't used to the body paint.

"Yes, of course." She climbed into his, which he didn't seem too happy about, but Haymitch's chariot would enter the courtyard first and that would help her make a better impression, so he would have to deal with it.

They stood there for a few minutes without talking, watching as the crew ushered the remaining tributes onto their chariots. But Effie couldn't bear it for long.

"So, District 4 are fish-" they were dressed in eye-catching, scaly outfits reminiscent of Yorke's collar "- and District 10 are cows." They were dressed all in leather, but it was all brown, and mostly boring. "What do we have to do with coal?" She asked him.

He smirked. "Fool's gold."

She wasn't sure what fool's gold was, and it must have shown on her face.

"They find it inside coal. During the Dark Days, people used to pass it off as real gold and sell it for much more than it was worth. That's why it's fool's gold, 'cause people were dumb enough to think it was real gold. I wouldn't have expected you to understand, princess, with your extensive knowledge of mining."

His tone was sarcastic but not as hostile as it usually was, so he must have been in a good mood.

"I have a name you know," she told him. "And it's not sweetheart or princess."

"That's right, _Euphemia_."

A spark of irritation flew through her. "Effie!" She stomped her foot, which left her teetering. "My name is Effie!"

The teetering turned into toppling, but Haymitch caught her before she could fall. "Careful. _Princess_."

She scowled, which was unladylike, but he deserved it.

There was a shout from across the room, and the first of the chariots began to move. Effie's irritation dissolved. It was beginning! How exciting!

As she was generally in District 12 for Games season, she'd never been to one of these parades. Now, not only was she going to attend one, she was going to be in it!

The chariots left one by one, two for each district, with a slight gap between each district. Before they even knew it, it was their turn.

The sound of the crowds was deafening, and the light was blinding at first, after the darkness of the room they'd been waiting in.

Tigris' words stuck in her head. _Eyes bright, chin up, smile on_.

She beamed at the crowds, and when that made their shouting louder, she began to wave and blow kisses.

They loved it. They loved _her_. _They adored her_.

One of the screens across the courtyard caught her eye, and even she was taken aback by just how amazing they looked. The light bounced off them and made them glow, and their cloaks flared out behind them as they moved.

This was far better than being naked and covered in coal dust.

Soon, the crowds were chanting. It took her a while to work out what they were saying, but when she did, her smile widened.

"District Twelve! District Twelve!"

"Haymitch," she whispered to her partner excitedly. "Haymitch, they love us!"

He wasn't as involved as she was, staying stood where he was, unsmiling.

"They're sending us to our deaths," he said through gritted teeth. "How much can they love us?"

That attitude just _wouldn't do_. She grabbed Haymitch's hand and thrust their joint hands into the air. On the screens, she saw Maysilee do the same to Sash. The effect was brilliant, and the crowd – which she hadn't known was possible – grew louder.

This was going to be a special year, and District Twelve _was_ going to win.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: This chapter is a little shorter than I would have liked, but the next one will probably be longer to compensate. Hope you enjoy!**

 **Chapter 4**

After the opening ceremony, they were escorted to the District 12 apartment by their escort. Each district had a floor to themselves in the tower, and twelve got the penthouse, which the escort wouldn't stop prattling about.

"You might want to clean up before dinner," the escort informed them, looking them up and down with a smile. "My, Tigris really has outdone herself! Gold will be all the rage this season."

Each of them was designated their own room, and Haymitch's was larger than his house back in District 12. Everything was automated, including the windows, which he changed from a view of the city to a view of a meadow. It reminded him of home.

Of Lily. Racing her across the meadow and arguing about who cheated. Picking the prettiest daisy and threading it into her hair. Stealing kisses behind the oak tree by the fence.

He couldn't relax with the paint there, and it was beginning to itch, so he did climb into the shower, despite the instinctive urge to disobey the escort.

The shower had too many panels and buttons for him to understand how it worked. He pressed blindly, accidentally turning on a blow drier at first and then a spray of some sort of flowery perfume.

Finally, he got water to come down. It was lemon-scented and warmer than he was used to, but he was too weary to attempt altering the settings even more.

Washing off the paint was harder than he'd expected. It was everywhere, which meant he couldn't even attempt to wash off most of the paint on his back. They'd been wearing clothes; where was the point his stylist had seen in painting everything?

But they _had_ looked great. If it hadn't been in celebration of twenty-three children's deaths, he would have preened just as much as Trinket.

Water and soap weren't enough to get rid of the paint, so he enlisted a towel's help. But no matter how hard he scrubbed at his skin, he couldn't wash off anything beyond the initial layer of glitter.

He gave up after an hour of determined scrubbing. His skin prickled from the force with which he'd used the towel, but when he looked in the mirror, he was still faded yellow. His hair sparkled.

He groaned loudly and pulled off the golden eye-lashes he'd had stuck on. Despite being soaked in water for so long, they clung to him, and he ended up pulling off many of his own eye-lashes alongside them.

The contacts were the most imposing part of the ordeal. No matter how much he stuck his fingers in his eyes, which burned, he couldn't pull them out. He ended up leaving them alone, too.

He'd try again later, after he'd eaten.

Shale, the escort, the three other tributes, and four people who must have been stylists because he recognised one as his, were sat down at the dinner table when he arrived.

Sash and Maysilee were both also yellow, and Sash had completely forgotten to wash his ears, so they were gold. It looked funny, and Shale must not have been happy about it, because she kept looking at them.

But of course, Trinket had somehow washed off all the paint. Or, almost, at any rate; her hair was still completely gold. She'd styled it into a ponytail and tied it with a new ribbon, so she must have left it alone on purpose.

The ribbon was blue, and it matched her eyes.

It was the first time he'd seen Trinket without her beloved Capitol-esque get-up, and she looked completely different. Younger and softer, somehow. Almost pretty.

"Good, you're here!" she beamed when she saw him. "There you go, Sash, _now_ you'll be able to eat."

The table was laid with lots of meat and vegetables, and Sash obviously had his eye on the turkey. He looked to Shale first, and when she nodded, he fell upon it hungrily.

"I'm not late," Haymitch announced to the room, in case Trinket's words had been a slight. "I was just trying to wash off this _bloody paint_."

The stylists all shared smiles, as though this was funny. _The silly district people can't even wash off some paint!_

"I'll have the prep teams hose you all down tomorrow before training," one of the stylists, a terrifyingly-altered tiger-faced woman promised.

"The trick," Trinket told him, "is using cold water and rubbing at it with a towel, like it's a stain."

He doubted she could have _that_ much experience with washing off stains, but he didn't say anything. She was only trying to be nice.

He shrugged and flopped down in a chair next to Maysilee, who was tentatively prodding some peas on her plate. He scooped a huge spoonful of mashed potatoes onto his.

"So," Haymitch's stylist, Neo, said. "Whose idea was the hand-holding?"

"Effie's," Maysilee provided. "The rest of us just copied her."

"It was pure genius!" Neo praised.

Trinket blushed, obviously pleased with the attention. "It wasn't _that_ good. It was very much an in-the-moment decision." She was making it clear she _did_ think it was _that good_ , and they should carry on speaking about it.

The stylists fell for it.

"Of _course_ it was, darling! Why, I never would have thought of it myself!"

"The audience _loved_ it. It was a beautiful display of unity."

"It very much in the spirit of the Games!"

There, Haymitch drew the line. "Actually," he said, "I liked it because it was rebellious."

The table froze, staring at him. Even Sash, who usually wouldn't have stopped eating even in the case of a natural disaster.

"Don't be ridiculous!" Shale said, voice sharp.

The lime-haired stylist laughed high-pitched. "It was a display of unity in your service to the Capitol."

"Exactly," Haymitch replied. "We were showing the Capitol that we're not adversaries, we're friends. And we're not going to change like that for them."

"We'll see how long that sentiment lasts in the arena." Shale was glaring at him. If looks could kill, he would be dead. "Have some beef, Haymitch."

The quiet he'd caused didn't last long. Trinket asked the stylists some question about fashion, and soon the whole table was abuzz with conversation again.

After everybody had their fill of what was laid out, the Avoxes brought in an intricately iced cake studded in tiny silver balls. When Haymitch bit into it, the silver exploded in his mouth and fizzed on his tongue.

"Your training sessions will begin tomorrow," Shale announced once everybody was finished. "We'll discuss them at breakfast, which will be eight am sharp. Don't be late and get plenty of sleep."

Haymitch had only been in his room for a moment when there was a knock on his door.

It was probably Shale, come to tell him off for what he'd said about the costumes. "Go away!" He didn't want another lecture.

It wasn't like the Capitol could punish him, anyway. They were already trying to kill him.

Not that he'd let them.

His door opened, and he groaned, flinging himself onto the bed and burying his face into his pillow. "I know, my behaviour was _abysmal_ ," he put on an affected Capitol accent, "but I'm really tired, so screw off please."

"It _was_ quite bad, but it's nice to know you do know how to say please."

The voice was high, with a bad Capitol accent of its own. Not Shale, her voice was lower and her accent better. There was only one person it could be…

He sat up. Indeed, there was Trinket, smiling. Didn't her face ever hurt from doing that all the time?

"What do you want?"

Her smile faltered slightly. "I noticed you still had your contacts in, at lunch, and I thought because you aren't used to them, you might need help taking them out."

That was rich of her. Thinking he was all helpless, when she was really the helpless one, when there was no way she would ever survive an arena.

He scowled. "They said the prep team would take care of it tomorrow."

"That's fine for the paint, but contacts can become painful if you leave them in all night."

"I'm sure I can deal, princess. There are worse things I've had to deal with."

She pursed her lips. "Your eyes will be all red tomorrow. It won't be a good look. The other tributes might even think you stayed up all night worrying, which would make you look weak."

He doubted the other tributes would bother looking at his eyes, but he wasn't about to risk it. "Fine."

"You'll be thankful for it, I promise!" She sat down onto the bed beside him and took his face in her hands.

They were soft – the hands of somebody who didn't have to work – and her touch was gentle.

He yanked his head away. "What the hell?"

"The contacts are in your eyes, Haymitch, I'll have to get close to your face." She spoke to him slowly and clearly, as though he was a child.

The last time he'd been so close to someone, it had been Lily. She'd been kissing him, and it had tasted salty, because they were both crying. He'd had his hands in her hair. He loved her hair; long and dark, frizzy in the summer.

It had already been frizzy when she came to say goodbye, despite all the hard work no doubt put into flattening it. On any other day, she would have huffed and tugged on it in irritation, cursing her curls, and he would have defended the lion's mane he loved so much.

"Haymitch?" Effie sighed, and took his face back into her hands. She began to reach for his left eye, and he was going to let her get on with it and get it over and done with when having something so close to his eye made him flinch away reflexively.

"D'you want me to do it or not?" Her tone had lost all its softness, and she sounded frustrated. Some of her District 12 accent slipped in. He hadn't known she _had_ a District 12 accent.

"I _do_ ," he replied, just as annoyed. "It's just hard 'cause you're poking around my eyes and your nails are sharp."

"They're not that sharp. And I managed my own contacts without poking out my eyes, didn't I? Now, stop being a baby and come over here."

 _She_ was the baby.

"Fine. Seeing as you're such an expert."

He let her come close, so close that he could feel her breath on his face, and he could smell her hair – flowery, like the meadow he missed. He felt a pang of longing for Lily deep within him.

This time, he forced himself to stay still, even though every instinct his body had was urging him to push her away. He clenched his fists around the bedsheets.

There was a moment of discomfort, when her finger was brushing against his eye and all he wanted to do was blink, and then she was pulling away with a beam on her face and something clear with gold bits on her finger.

"There! That wasn't so hard, was it?"

It _was_ hard, although it was admittedly far less painful than he'd expected.

"Now for the other eye."

He groaned loudly, stretching out the sound.

Trinket rolled her eyes. "You survived it once, I'm sure you'll survive it again."

She was different than when she was in a room of people. Less giggly. It was more tolerable, although her presence still irked him.

She took his face into her hands again, tightly so he couldn't escape again, and plucked the contact lens out with far more ease than the first time.

"All done!" Trinket chirped, discarding the lenses on his bedside table. "May I be of any other service to you?"

"Er, no, thanks." Haymitch ran his hand through his hair and winced when he felt how stiff and sticky the gold had left it. "Are you not washing off your hair?" She _had_ to be in discomfort. Then again, with all those fancy wigs and dresses, she must have lived in discomfort.

"No, I think I might keep it," she told him. "Like a trademark, you know. So people will be able to tell me apart. It does look rather good, doesn't it? The gold brings out my eyes."

"Figures you would want everybody's attention."

Trinket sniffed delicately. "Attention is what saves your life, you know. If we're trapped in a desert arena, like the 29th Games, sponsors could be the only way we don't die of thirst. Or our sponsors could provide us with a specialised weapon, like Woof's needle."

 _Oh, he knew_. The Capitol owned them. _Of course_ their lives would ultimately depend on them, even if they were already perfect Victor material.

But she had a point.

If it meant getting out of that arena alive, wasn't it worth sucking up to them?

To lose his dignity that way, to have to betray everything he believed in… It would almost be worse than facing the arena itself.

And yet… _Harland, huge smile plastered over his face, chasing after the crushed tin they were using as a ball. His mother, her hair not yet greying, her belly still bulging with Harland, tucking him in and telling him stories. Lily, taking him by the hand and pulling him behind the slag heap._

Weren't they worth it?

"Mother will go over it with us later, anyway," Trinket continued. "Definitely before the interviews. That's when the sponsors really come into play. We'll have our private training sessions before that, so they're the priority. Are you excited for training tomorrow?"

"Thrilled."

He wasn't about to make small talk, not with Effie Trinket, not about the Games.

"Night, sweetheart. Don't think too hard about tomorrow, you wouldn't want to hurt that pretty head of yours," he told her, watching her face fall slightly, and then he basically pushed her back outside.

Again, he found it hard to sleep. Even the carpet was too soft to replicate the feeling of sleeping in his bed, and there was no fancy machine which could mimic the sound of soft snuffles and snores as his brother slept beside him.

Mostly, he strategized for training.

He couldn't trust Shale. It was already suspicious, in his opinion, that she'd left their meeting about it until the morning of, when they'd have less time to prepare.

He'd head for hand-to-hand combat stations first. Establish just how much he could rely on his strength. Then he'd head for all the important, basic stuff tributes died because of in the Games. Fire, food, water. Maybe he'd try his hand at knives, because you could generally trust the Cornucopia to be full of them.

He got barely any sleep, and when he woke up it was already half past eight. Haymitch swore, not bothering with showering or changing clothes, and hurried to breakfast. He wouldn't have put it past Shale to start discussing training without him there.

Everybody was sat in the previous night's places, except the stylists weren't there. They were all eating, so Shale must have lost all her patience on him. She would have made them wait for him otherwise, because it was polite.

Trinket was the first to notice him entering. "Haymitch! Did you sleep in?"

She drew everyone's attention to him, and they stared. They were dressed in light clothing obviously meant for sports.

"Good morning, Haymitch," Shale greeted him coldly. Was she still upset about his talk of rebellion, or was she annoyed by his lack of manners?

Both, knowing his luck.

"I'm here," he announced. No point in excuses. "Have you talked about training yet?"

"Lucky for you, boy, the topic hasn't come up yet."

"You missed all the muffins, Haymitch!" Sash told him as he sat down. "Muffins are like cake, but not. They have blueberries inside, or chocolate, or…"

"Cool," Haymitch dismissed him, grabbing a roll and some butter. "So, training."

"In the training centre," Shale began, "there will be stations teaching you about weapons and survival. There's no time for you to hone a weapon now, so you may as well stick to the survival stations. Don't display any talents you may have – save those for the private training session. 12 has theirs last, so you'll need to be impressive. This is your chance to form alliances. If you're determined to be a loner," her gaze flickered to Haymitch pointedly, "don't aggravate anyone, because the last thing you need is other tributes seeking revenge."


	5. Chapter 5

**Sorry this took a bit longer than the other chapters. Back-to-school season, you know how it is. Anyway, I'd like to give a shout-out to the story's first three followers: lisa1996, bookbookbook3224, and 12lawmanj. Welcome! Thank you! You guys are awesome. Hope you enjoy! :)**

 **Chapter 5**

At the training centre, they all had to cluster around a lean, handsome man who introduced himself as Ares, the Head Trainer. He explained the rules and gave them some general advice – focus on more than one station, learn something new – before setting them off.

Effie stayed where she was, observing the other tributes.

 _This is just like a party,_ she told herself. There would be cliques based around skills and friendships and dealing with them would be based off all the individual members. The best way to stay alive when surrounded by wolves would be to appeal to the strongest among them.

Her eyes fell on the tributes from District 1, 2, and 4. Haymitch called them 'the Careers'. They were together at the sword section, laughing like best friends. They'd fallen together almost instinctively, except for two of the tributes from 4 and one of them from 1.

The boy from 1 who didn't appear to be part of the alliance was called Lush. He was a huge hulk of a boy, with muscles that bulged, but not particularly handsome. Presumably, he was so confident as a loner because of his strength.

The two tributes from 4 appeared to have created their own alliance and were at home in the knot-tying section, where a complicated hammock seemed to be coming into existence. The girl was Ondina, and it took Effie – who had an amazing knack for names – a moment to identify the boy as River, because he'd been so withdrawn at the opening ceremony that Effie hadn't noticed him.

Effie wasn't sure that Lush or the Careers would accept her, but the duo from 4 were definitely out as allies. They were too close to each other to want to look out for another tribute.

Most of the tributes had stuck to the survival stations, as Effie's mother had told the four District 12 tributes that morning. It was probably standard mentor advice.

Not a lot of them posed threats or appeal. District 8 seemed to have a fairly strong team, and a girl from District 7 seemed to be doing well with the edible plants section.

Haymitch was at the fire-making section and seemed to be having a considerate amount of success. Sash was with Maysilee – good, acting as a team had proved to be a useful technique for District 12 – at the first aid station, practicing something with bandages.

She was tempted to join her teammates – maybe Haymitch, seeing as he was completely alone – but the loner boy from District 1 caught her eye again. He'd begun throwing knives, with a startling accuracy.

Useful, she decided, seeing him. Vulnerable, the separation from his team told her. If she could form some sort of agreement with him, it could help save her or her team in the arena.

She sauntered over, coming to a stop a little behind him, watching as he threw three knives in quick succession – face, heart, abdomen.

He threw a quick glance towards her, slightly thrown off by her presence. When he threw the knives again, the third was off and hit the crotch.

"Do you mind?" he snapped at Effie.

"I'm _so_ sorry," Effie gushed. "I promise, I didn't mean to stare, it's just that I've never seen anybody throw knives like _that_ before. How did you become so great?"

His shoulders relaxed, almost imperceptibly. It was hard to notice amongst all that muscle.

"I guess I was just born great," he told Effie, a familiar leave-me-alone tone to his voice that reminded her of Haymitch.

"Wow. It must make you _so_ popular in your district. Back home, I swear, none of the boys would even be able to hold the knives properly."

The right corner of his lips quirked, nearly a smile. That hadn't been so hard. But then, most men liked having their egos stroked.

"Yeah, I guess I'm pretty popular at home," he said. His eyes flickered to her cleavage, and she pretended not to notice.

"I can't imagine how popular you'll be _after_ you win. Will there even be room in District 1's Victors' Village?"

"Well, we've had a lot of Victors, but they built a few more houses after Brutus won."

This time, when he threw the knives, he went for something a little more impressive: the eyes and mouth.

She made her best impressed face, widening her eyes and opening her mouth in a cute little 'o' she sometimes practiced in the mirror as a reaction to surprises. "That is just, like, _crazy_." She lowered her voice conspiratorially and fluttered her eyelashes. "Do you think you could teach me?"

Lush laughed. "So you can stab me in the back when I'm in the arena?"

Effie wrinkled her nose. "I don't like blood."

It was true; she'd never liked it. When she was little, and she cut herself, she went into hysterics and sometimes fainted. Even now, when she scratched herself on the thorns of a blackberry bush or sliced her thumb while she was chopping up herbs for a face mask, she felt the familiar nausea bubbling in the pit of her stomach.

On pictures and screens, it didn't really bother her. Effie had grown up watching the Games, looking forward to the bloodbath. But there was something about sensing it all in person – the metallic scent, the sticky feeling, the sting of it leaving her body – which made her lose her mind.

"Nice try, doll," Lush said. "The trainer's over there." He pointed to where the trainer was demonstrating how to grip a knife to a boy from 3.

Effie pouted. "But you're so good! And I like you much better than the trainer."

"What if I teach you wrong on purpose?"

"I guess I'll trust you to teach me right if you trust me not to stab you in the back." She veiled it behind her words – the possibility of alliance – and he peered at her, distrusting.

"I'll teach you how to style your hair better," she sweetened the deal. "Your stylist yesterday was good, but I'm better."

He shook his head, turned around, and went back to throwing knives.

"Fine. Don't complain to me when you win and the only question they ask is: how could you find the will to live with _that_ hairstyle?"

Effie grabbed a knife, chose a fairly close target, and aimed for the heart.

The knife clattered to the floor barely a metre away, nowhere near the target.

She sighed and picked up another knife.

"Not like that!" Lush corrected, grabbing her wrist before she could make the throw. "Your stance is a disgrace to knife throwing."

"Why do you care?"

He glowered at her, grumbling. "I care 'cause I don't want your inexperienced ass skewering me by accident before we're even in the arena. Now watch."

He showed her how to stand, how to hold the knife, how to aim and throw. He had his arm around her, showing her the exact movement to make, when a knife they hadn't thrown hit their target.

It was a mediocre shot, only barely hitting a shoulder at the close distance, but it was a shock and both Effie and Lush jumped.

Haymitch was stood by them, scowling more than usual. There was already a new knife in his hand. "D'you mind?" he snapped. "The two of you are blocking the course."

"Go around us," Lush retorted, sounding similarly irritated.

"I shouldn't have to. This is the experienced section."

Lush snorted, looking over Haymitch's previous shots. They were nearly all hits to the edges of the targets, nothing that would have caused much injury in a battle. "What experience?"

"Piss off." Haymitch directed his next words to Effie. "We said we'd go to the edible plants section together. Remember?"

Had they said that?

 _Oh_.

Effie threw her hands into the air, shaking her head with a self-deprecating smile. "We did, didn't we? Silly me! I'm sorry, Haymitch, you're right. We can go there now. I'll see you later, Lush."

"Don't expect any favours in the arena," Lush told her, and then he sneered at Haymitch. "Especially you, kid."

They must have been the same age, or at least around it. Haymitch glared at him. "Yeah, sure. I'm terrified. Come on."

He grabbed Effie by the wrist, pulling her along to the edible plants section. Between him being much larger and fitter than her, she struggled to keep up with his long strides.

"That was _rude_ ," she frowned at Haymitch when he finally let go, rubbing her wrist. "I believe my mother told you _not_ to antagonise people."

"He started it. What were you doing in the first place, fraternising with the enemy?"

 _Fraternising_. So Haymitch did know big words. How impressive.

"I wasn't fraternising with the enemy," she retorted, annoyed. There was only so much one could take, and Haymitch was constantly giving. She hadn't heard him say a single 'please' or 'thank you' or even 'sorry' that day. Not even the previous day, if she remembered correctly. "I was getting to know my competitors. Possibly forming an alliance. Actually improving my odds, instead of making enemies left and right."

"He was a Career! As if he would have allied with the likes of you!"

That insolent, infuriating, idiotic boy! There was nothing wrong with 'the likes of her'. She was smart, pretty, likeable, and _polite_. And judging by their respective lives, she was the better for it.

Haymitch could have learned a lot from 'the likes of her', if he could just pull his head out from his behind.

She wanted to shout all this at him, and more. Wanted to wipe that superiority off his face – as if _he,_ a Seam boy, could be better than _her_ , a Trinket.

But she couldn't. It would be rude. She had to think of the gamemakers watching them. She had to think of the other tributes. So she swallowed all the rage and smiled. She knew he would hate the reaction and that was a small consolation.

"I'll have you know that lots of people would want me as an ally," Effie informed Haymitch brightly. "Now, we may as well get on with learning about plants. Come along!"

The instructor at the edible plants section tested their knowledge, where they both did fairly well. Effie knew most of the plants native to District 12, but couldn't separate many of the edible ones – and of course there was a massive gap in her knowledge to plants grown in other Districts. Haymitch fared almost as well – he didn't know many plants, but he which were edible, like dandelions and cattails.

"Have to eat something, don't I?" he said when he saw Effie staring, surprised at his skill.

She hadn't realised the Seam people were _that_ poor. And Haymitch, apparently, was among their wealthier families. She'd seen the skinny bodies and gaunt faces, of course, but had never done much other than envy them; skinny was always _en vogue_ in the Capitol, regardless of current fashions. Could people have really been starving when her fridge was stocked full?

She'd always been taught that they were lucky. That the Capitol took care of them.

But the way Sash ravaged his meals like he'd never eaten before… Maysilee's matchstick wrists, which looked so easy to snap… The meagre feast 12 presented during the Victory Tour, which Effie had always been so ashamed of…

That didn't look like a district cared for by the Capitol.

"What do you think this is?" the instructor told them, holding up a plant.

It was dotted with fruit – small, round, and blue-purple.

"Some sort of berry plant?" Effie proposed. The only berries they grew in their garden back home were strawberries. She'd seen the other kinds in passing, during trips to the Capitol.

"It's not blueberries," Haymitch declared. "There's a spot in the fence where you can reach through and pick the nearest bushes. There's always a rush of people heading there in the summer to see who can pick them first."

There it was again, that casual mention of how desperate everyone was for food.

Or maybe he was exaggerating. Maybe it was just fruits and vegetables they lacked, because District 12 couldn't grow many and District 11 wasn't large enough to supply everywhere in large amounts, and maybe that was why everybody was so skinny. The Capitol could hardly be blamed for that. Maybe the Capitol didn't even know.

"You're correct – this is a type of berry, and it's not a blueberry. This is actually nightlock – it's quite common in arenas, because it grows in forests. Nightlock is extremely poisonous and will kill you in a matter of minutes, so don't eat it no matter how hungry you are."

Nightlock could be recognised through its ribbed, oval-shaped leaves and the fact that it grew in clusters, usually at the bases of trees.

"So in general," Haymitch concluded. "If you're not sure what the berry is, stay away from it."

The instructor nodded. "And if you're desperate for food but you're not sure about the berry, try smashing it against your skin and rubbing it in. If your skin becomes irritated, the berry is most likely poisonous."

"Or you can always test them on other tributes," Effie added, absent-mindedly. Slipping the berries into Career food supplies, for example, would be easy.

Haymitch gawked at her, as though he hadn't expected her to say that sort of thing. He never thought anything good about her, even though she'd never done anything to him. It was unfair – it would have been nice if their whole team could be friends.

"Cat got your tongue?" Effie jutted her chin challengingly. She could take his cruel remarks; it wasn't like she hadn't heard the whispers following her around the district.

He smirked, the surprise gone in a millisecond. "No, my tongue's fine, sweetheart. Why are you worrying about it?"

 _Boys_.

"I can be ruthless too, you know," Effie told him. "I do want to win these Games. It would be a shame not to carry on the family tradition."

"What, the family tradition of using mediocre looks to cheat the other competitors into letting you win?"

"My mother won based off brain not looks, thank you very much! If anything, the other competitors cheated themselves by underestimating her.

"Yeah, well you've got neither brains nor looks, so what about you is anybody underestimating?"

"It shouldn't matter. You're underestimating me right now, when you've just seen that I'm perfectly good at some of these activities. That's hardly the best Games mentality, you know."

"Oh, sorry," he mocked. "Let me get into my best Games mentality! I'm being sent into an arena to kill people against my will, but I have to do it because if I don't, four years from now my brother could be in the same place because it was the only way he could get money for new shoes. Yay, happy murder time!"

He'd forgotten all about the point of the Games. How the sacrifice of twenty-four was necessary for the survival of thousands.

What about the honour? The glory?

"Right," the instructor said, somewhat awkwardly. Effie had forgotten they were there, which was bad manners, but it would be even worse to interrupt them now to apologise. "This plant is…"

"Ground-ivy!" Effie identified quickly, at the same time as Haymitch said,

"Creeping Charlie!"

The instructor smiled. "You're both right. Ground-ivy – or Creeping Charlie – is known by many names…"

They ended up staying at the edible plants section until lunch, which was also in the Training Centre but on an upper level. The tributes would all be eating together.

Everybody stuck with their districts, except for the Careers. Lush ate with them, but the duo from 4 stayed separate.

"He was quite nice," Effie told Maysilee and Sash, of the loner boy from District 1. "A bit grumpy, but then, that's typical of District 1, isn't it? They're not a very warm people. His accuracy when he's throwing knives is _astounding_ -"

"We get it, sweetheart. You may have a big, ol' crush on the beefcake, but we don't need to hear about how dreamy his eyes are."

"You shouldn't interrupt people," Effie reprimanded Haymitch, which she hadn't done yet during their stay in the Capitol even though he did it constantly and it was the _height_ of bad manners. "And you _shouldn't_ have been so rude to him. I thought the two of you had similar personalities."

It was true – they _did_ have similar personalities – but she also loved the way Haymitch recoiled at the prospect.

"I'm flattered," he said – sarcastically, judging by the disgust still smeared across his face.

"Anyway, after that Haymitch _dragged_ me to the edible plants section, and we stayed there. The instructor was an absolute delight, we had the most interesting conversation about the properties of plantain – Haymitch thought it was just a garden weed!"

Haymitch scowled.

They talked a little more about plants, and then Maysilee and Sash shared their own experiences. After the first-aid station, they'd learned the basics of hand-to-hand combat (Maysilee, supposedly, had a natural gift for this, which Effie found hard to believe given her tiny stature and quiet disposition) and visited the fire-making station, where they'd noticed the tributes from 5 did well.

After lunch, they were allowed three more hours of training before it was time to return to the penthouse. This time, everybody split up; Haymitch decided to try his hand at throwing spears; Maysilee headed for the edible plants section that Effie had praised so highly, and Sash attempted knife-throwing.

Effie spent most of her time at the snare station with one of the female tributes from District 6, Metra. They were both rather hopeless at snares, only entangling the wires and ropes provided with, but it was at least an inability they could bond over, and by the time their combined efforts had resulted in a lopsided, loose snare which seemed to bring the instructor physical pain, Effie had awkward, self-conscious Metra laughing.

She decided she quite liked these people, no matter what Haymitch said. Sure, some of them were a bit grumpy or stand-offish, but at least they gave her a chance – in that, they were nicer to her than District 12 had ever been.

There wasn't much time left, after the snare station, so Effie spent a small amount of time at the fire-making station and managed to create a tiny wisp of smoke. It was far harder than watching Haymitch had led her to believe.

At dinner, they relayed everything to Effie's mother and Hubby Hark. The two adults relayed advice and strategies. Haymitch complained about Effie and Effie complained about Haymitch. Effie was praised for building friendships – people are less willing to kill people they know. Haymitch was scolded for creating potential enemies.

Over the next few days, this became their routine – breakfast, training, lunch, training, dinner, bed, rinse, repeat.

Effie found a kindred spirit in Annette, the District 4 girl who stuck with the Careers, who was bubbly and chatty and wouldn't teach Effie anything at the knot station but did show her a pretty way to braid hair. The older boy from District 8, Cotton, was well-spoken and mild-tempered – very high-class for a district person – and they spoke at length about the intricacies of Capitol fashion while creating shelter from only natural resources. Gypsy, from District 10, was even surlier and meaner than Haymitch – a complete no-no. Didget, from District 3, was twitchy and fearful and couldn't wait to get away from her. Generally, unremarkably, boys tended to like Effie more than girls did.

Haymitch invested a lot of time and effort into the knife-throwing station for someone who thought it was pointless trying to learn a weapon in three days; Effie suspected he only did it because of Lush's words on their first day. He didn't get much better, but his knives did get slightly nearer to the targets, as long as the targets stayed still.

However, Haymitch was good at the practicalities; fire, food, shelter, water. He was strong and fit, and liked outsmarting opponents.

There wasn't much Effie had a talent for, beyond the edible plants station. She learnt some passable fire-making, knot-tying, shelter-building, water-finding-and-purifying, and scavenging. She enjoyed the similarity of camouflage and makeup, even if she wasn't that good. With some reluctance, she paid a second visit to the hand-to-hand combat station, and later learnt where to stab and how to gut.

Maysilee proved to be the star of the group, with an aptitude for many of the activities and a gift for hitting targets when provided with a suitable weapon. She told them this was because she was good at maths – Effie couldn't imagine what that had to do with it.

Sash tried hard, but – like Effie's efforts – it didn't amount to much. Knowing how to gut an animal was only useful if you could catch an animal in the first place. Knowing how to wield a knife was only useful if you were willing to kill.

She could see in Haymitch's eyes that he'd already written the boy off as a goner. A part of Effie agreed; it made sense that he didn't want an alliance with them.

But she wasn't about to give up on Sash when he was still alive. She made it her mission to fuss over him and drag him around the Training Centre to talk with people at different stations. She told him to sit up straight and not to talk while he was chewing.

When the private training session finally crept up on them, the four of them sat together in the lunch hall, Effie filling the quiet with chatter about the next day's interviews.

After District 11's last tribute left, they were the only ones there. Being District 12, they would be last to see the gamemakers – a clear disadvantage. Effie had run out of chatter, which she hadn't known was possible.

"Let's fix your hair," she said to Sash, trying to flatten the messy mop. He would be the first of their team to go up. "Try not to mess it up when you go in. And remember to greet them nicely, and act polite, and thank them for their time."

Haymitch snorted. She ignored him pointedly.

"Do you need to use the bathroom? You'll have to hold it once you've gone in."

"Stop coddling him," Haymitch told her. "He'll be fine."

She pursed her lips. "I know he will." She smoothed down the shoulders of Sash's training shirt.

His name was called. Effie gave his shoulder a final pat and a bright beam. "May the odds be ever in your favour."

"Thanks," Sash mumbled, already slouching again as he left the room.

Effie deflated into a chair, hoping he at least got above a five.

What would her score be? She knew it wouldn't be anything impressive – she was planning on heading for the edible plants section, to take the test. It wasn't flashy or exciting. Probably the gamemakers wouldn't notice her, even with her hair.

She would just have to dazzle everybody at the interview instead, she told herself, sitting up straight and squaring her shoulders. It was far too early to accept defeat.

"Would either of you like some water?" she asked, lifting the jug sat on their table. "Maysilee, you're looking pale. We wouldn't want you to faint."

"I'm fine, thanks," Maysilee replied. She was a tough nut to crack. Effie had plenty of experience in breaking shy people out of their shells – she'd already done it with some of the tributes – and yet Maysilee remained virtually a mystery.

Maybe that was her angle. She could have passed it off better with more confidence.

"Are you going to throw knives?" Effie asked Haymitch. He was pacing up and down the room. He'd never admit it, but she suspected he was nervous.

"What, so they laugh me out of the room? No. I'll do something else. I might head for the spears. I'm better with one of those."

Effie felt dread broiling in the pit of her stomach, and her shoulders slouched forward – which they never did – as she closed her eyes and rested her forehead on her hand. " _Please_ tell me you aren't about to head into your private training session with the gamemakers without a plan."

He shrugged. "Fine. I'm not."

It was the height of irresponsibility! At his own cost! Effie couldn't understand what was possibly going on in his head – he was so smart, he was always reading and strategizing, and she knew he'd been a good student at school, so why was he being _so dumb_?

"I do my best work in the heat of the moment," Haymitch defended himself.

"That's just something lazy, procrastinating people say to make themselves feel better. Your performance would have probably been more successful if you'd planned it."

"You've been planning your private training session all week, princess, and I have no doubt _that's_ going to be the opposite of a success, so shut your big mouth and leave me alone."

She couldn't find it within herself to argue. He was right.

If only she could do anything she _knew_ she was really good at… But the gamemakers would hardly be impressed with a pretty outfit or charming disposition. That wasn't what they wanted.

Haymitch got called in.

He would be fine, Effie told herself. This wasn't about personality; it was about skills, and Haymitch – though she'd never tell him for fear of further blowing up his ego – had plenty of those.

Maysilee reached across the table, taking Effie's hand in hers. "You'll be okay," she promised with a quiet confidence that almost _did_ convince Effie. The change in Maysilee's demeanour was small, but startling. "As long as you never stop hoping, they won't win."

Effie smiled weakly but didn't say anything because she didn't understand. Was Maysilee talking about the other tributes? Hoping wouldn't give her any advantage over them.

"Effie Trinket!" the voice called. Had the time gone already?

She stood, trying to conceal the trembling of her legs. "Thank you," she told Maysilee, and then she entered the training room.


End file.
